Heart of the Matter
by Audrey Lynne
Summary: Modern AU. Grantaire has a secret he's kept from almost everyone. He has a heart problem that goes a lot deeper than being hopelessly in love with Enjolras. Enjolras/Grantaire eventually, Jehan/Courfeyrac, Joly/Musichetta/Bossuet. T for swearing at present. Hopefully more later on. Jehan/Grantaire brotp. :)
1. How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?

_Tumblr is a dangerous place for a writer with multiple projects. But, hey, it happens. I made myself hold off on this one until I had new chapters up on my main stories...so now I can put some of it up, lol. Also, in this particular modern AU, Jehan and Taire are half-brothers. It's an idea inspired by a tumblr rp I'm in as Grantaire._

* * *

Grantaire had always been a cat person. It surprised some people, but it shouldn't have. He was introspective, occasionally aloof, and pretty much understood why many cats didn't like most people. But if someone got under his skin, he was theirs for life.

Enjolras seemed like he might be a cat person, too, though the matter had never been discussed between them. Actually, he seemed more like an actual cat sometimes, from Grantaire's perspective. Specifically, a pedigreed Siamese. Gorgeous, regal, and never afraid to make his opinion known. By that analogy, Grantaire supposed he would have been a standard street tabby - world-wise, scruffy, often jaded. And while a Siamese was sure to let you know when they were displeased with the state of affairs and demand to know how you intended to help change it, a wounded alleycat slunk away to either recover or die in peace. No sense in leaving oneself vulnerable, open to further injury.

Alleycats had scars, too. The one that ran down the center of Grantaire's chest reminded him every day of his weakness. Jehan liked to say he considered it more a sign of strength, of things survived - and perhaps a reminder that Grantaire should cut back on his drinking. Right, like that was going to happen.

As far as the cat analogy went, Grantaire had to think a little longer to figure out what kind of cat Jehan would be. Ragdoll, probably. They were gorgeous, long-haired balls of affection. Definitely similar to Jehan. Grantaire and Jehan seemed to be opposites on the surface - a cynic and a dreamer - but they had more in common than most people realized. Even beyond their father.

They hadn't known until they were in college, years after they'd become friends, but Grantaire's father - and Jehan's, as they'd discovered - was a charmer, with absolutely no sense of monogamy. Women fell in love with him, settled down, and he left as quickly as he'd come. Jehan's mother had been looking for him for child support when she'd found out she was hardly the first. Grantaire snorted, trying to imagine her surprise when he and Jehan had met in an art class in high school and quickly bonded, never realizing they were half-brothers. They looked nothing alike - Jehan had inherited his mother's fair, gentle looks. But she'd never said anything. Grantaire hadn't been lucky enough to have a mother nearly as strong and kind as Amelie Prouvaire...he'd been blamed for the sins of his father growing up. But Amelie doted on him, as if she were trying to make up for the trouble he'd seen. As far as psychosocial experiments went, Jehan and Grantaire were quite the study in how similar genetics but different environments could form two very different outlooks on life.

Amelie hadn't told the boys they were brothers because she didn't want to disrupt things. She'd been deflecting Jehan's questions about his father his entire life, and she saw no reason to broach the issue and all its messiness in the delicate teen years. But during Jehan's freshman year at the university, he'd been in an accident, and though it fortunately looked much worse than it was, Amelie had told them. She said she wanted them to know in the event anything happened. Emotionally, they already considered themselves brothers, so it only deepened the strength of their relationship.

They'd been about to graduate high school when Jehan found out about the scar. It was one of Grantaire's many secrets - he had discovered early in life that when people found out, they immediately treated him like an invalid. But Jehan knew better. He merely nodded as he listened. Cogenital heart defect, surgery as a child. It didn't seem to faze him. He did snort, though, as Grantaire sipped at the bottle that had already been his companion for several years at that point.

"_This doesn't mean anything's any different," Grantaire warned._

"_No, of course not," Jehan agreed. "But should you really be drinking that, given…?"_

"_Probably not." But Grantaire grinned, taking another, very deliberate sip. Jehan had rolled his eyes and swatted Grantaire's shoulder._

Despite his reputation as a ball of sunshine, Grantaire knew Jehan was prone to fits of melancholy. The difference between them was that Jehan only visited the dark places in his mind; Grantaire basically lived there. He'd gotten used to it. Jehan worked it out through his writing. Art was the only thing that saved Grantaire from falling over the edge entirely. Well, art, and a certain student activist.

Jehan had come home from a date one night, excited and explaining that his new boyfriend was part of some group on campus, and they should really check it out. Grantaire had sighed and said maybe, not wanting to burst Jehan's bubble. But Jehan was a persistent little snot when he wanted to be, and so Grantaire eventually let himself be dragged along. His plan was to hang around for a few minutes and slip out quietly. When he saw Enjolras standing on a table, working up the crowd, he knew he was staying.

Grantaire didn't believe in love at first sight. To be fair, he didn't believe in much of anything. But he did accept that lust could be instant and lust, in time, could turn to love. And it had happened, which pretty much sucked in his case because Enjolras was the definition of unattainable, at least as far as Grantaire was concerned. But love was what it was. And it was blind - cruelly so, at times. But it kept him coming back to the Musain, even on nights when the topic strayed from LGBT equality and Grantaire no longer gave a flying fuck what Enjolras was going on about.

Another night at the Musain, another night in which Enjolras was trying to convince anyone who would listen that the patriarchy had to go. Grantaire honestly wasn't sure what that even meant. He understood the words, but when he pointed out that the people had, in fact, elected their leaders these days, Enjolras just sighed and shook his head. Depending on the state of mind Grantaire was in and how much alcohol he'd had, that could have been interpreted as a heart-stabbing rejection. But Grantaire had actually been having a relatively decent day, so he shrugged it off. He wasn't feeling one hundred percent, but occasional exhaustion and a lingering ache in his chest, that he was unfortunately used to. Most days, it wasn't bad, but there were some times even the short steps to the Musain's meeting room left him winded. He laughed it off as being out of shape and everyone but Jehan bought it.

Jehan wasn't exactly fussing over him that night either. He did sometimes, at least as much as Grantaire would allow in public, but after weaving a crown of daisies and placing it on Grantaire's head, Jehan had moved along to mingle amongst their friends. He was currently decorating Courfeyrac's lap, his usual perch. They were pretending they weren't more interested in making out than what Enjolras was saying, and frankly, they were more amusing to watch.

Grantaire sighed, sipping at his drink, and flashed a cynical grin at Combeferre. "Am I hearing things? Because it _sounds_ like he's speaking French, but I don't understand a word he's said all night."

Combeferre laughed, nudging his glasses up on his nose before patting Grantaire's arm. "He does have his moments." He frowned after a moment, though, leaning closer. His eyebrows knitted together. "Are you well, Taire? You look a bit paler than usual."

Grantaire waved him off. "I'm fine. Don't let word get to Joly; he won't get near me for a week. What'd he catch during his rotations today, anyhow?" Deflection was one of his favorite options.

Combeferre smiled. "I believe he's narrowed it down to either pneumonia or lung cancer. I told him if he cuts back on smoking, he'll do just fine."

Smoking. That was the one vice Grantaire _had_ surrendered, and he missed it. But he ultimately missed being able to breathe more. He'd given his friends some kind of bullshit about not being able to afford it, but they hadn't hassled him about it too much. "He does know lung cancer's not contagious, right?"

"Of course. But you know how he gets that allergic cough in the fall." Combeferre glanced fondly in Joly's direction. Whatever plans the medical student ultimately had for his so-inevitable funeral had apparently been put on hold while Joly flirted with Musichetta. With one hand in the back pocket of Bossuet's pants. The three of them had long ago stopped trying to be secretive about the nature of their polyamorous relationship, and everyone was glad for it. It wasn't as if everyone hadn't already known, even if they considered it none of their business.

It was nearing midnight, and Enjolras showed no signs of wrapping up. He was in one of those inspired moods where he barely even noticed that no one was paying that much attention. And normally, Grantaire would have been content to sit and watch him. But his chest was feeling tight and he knew he needed to get himself to bed or he'd be good for nothing for days. He stood, heading for the door.

Of all the things to catch Enjolras' attention, that would have to be it. Enjolras cocked his head, fixing Grantaire with a curious look. "Done with our cause already?"

Grantaire genuinely wished he had the energy to taunt him, because Enjolras had left the door wide open. But he shook his head. "No, but it's late and so, my Apollo, I must bid you adieu." Hopefully the nickname counted as enough snark. He put a hand to his chest as dramatically as possible, but also because it was really beginning to hurt. Time for a graceful exit.

The floor rushing up to meet him was not exactly what Grantaire considered graceful.

* * *

Combeferre knew when it was best to guide Enjolras back to an issue and when to let him go and vent his frustration at the system, and this night fell in the latter category. He'd been circulating the room, checking in with his friends, and nodding encouragingly at Enjolras every so often.

Grantaire was the first who dared to leave, and probably the only one who could have gotten away with it. Combeferre shook his head, entertained as Grantaire took on a dramatic pose, as though mortally wounded. He was significantly less amused when Grantaire took another step and collapsed to the floor. "Shit, I didn't think he'd had that much to drink."

Feuilly frowned, clearly concerned. "He didn't. Especially not for him."

Combeferre moved to assess their fallen friend, especially unnerved when he saw that Grantaire's face had turned nearly as grey as the tile beneath him. "This isn't alcohol." Whatever it was had to be more serious; he'd seen Grantaire passed out drunk before.

Jehan fell off Courfeyrac's lap, but he didn't seem to notice; he scrambled over, his sole focus on Grantaire. They'd been best friends for a long time, Combeferre knew, and he tried to avoid Jehan's gaze as he turned clinical.

Combeferre cursed as he felt for a pulse, finding nothing. "Joly. Call an ambulance, and see if they have a defibrillator downstairs. He's in cardiac arrest."

Joly's eyes went wide. "My God." He was off in an instant.

Jehan choked on a sob. "No, no, no, no... Taire...come on, you've got to fight. Don't leave me, please. Don't go where I can't follow."

Combeferre pulled Grantaire's shirt open, preparing to start chest compressions. He frowned at the old but noticable scar down the breastbone as he moved into position. "Jehan. Do you know if he's had surgery before?"

Jehan nodded tearfully, gripping Grantaire's hand. "When he was young. His heart, he's got some defect...I don't know what exactly."

Combeferre nodded, immediately moving to the first round of CPR. He tried to push all clinical knowledge out of his mind, except what he needed in the moment. No sense dwelling on morbidity and mortality rates of cardiac defects on top of an extensive history of alcohol abuse. All he could afford to dwell on was rate and rhythm, depth and a count as he desperately tried to keep his friend alive. One, two, three - that was definitely a rib breaking. Four, five, six, seven...there went another one. Even before medical school, Combeferre had been told broken ribs meant CPR was being done properly. Broken ribs were temporary; death was permanent. But it had always been a stranger. Never a friend. Never with their mutual friends gathered around.

Thirty, and Combeferre moved with practiced speed to tilt Grantaire's head back to deliver two breaths. The only advantage to it being a friend was he didn't hesitate to give mouth-to-mouth while he waited for proper equipment to arrive. The taste of alcohol wasn't as strong on Grantaire's lips as he'd expected, and Combeferre cursed himself for even spending a moment assuming that was the cause of collapse. He'd noticed Grantaire wasn't quite himself. He should have done more, even if he didn't know what he _could_ have done.

Joly fell to his knees beside Combeferre, depositing a portable defibrillator on the floor, sandwiching his cell phone between his shoulder and his ear as he moved to get the defibrillator set up. "Yes, yes, the one in Saint-Michel. He's -" He frowned quizically at Jehan. "He's what, twenty-three, twenty-four?"

"Twenty-four," Jehan confirmed.

"Cardiac defect," Combeferre reported, moving his hand to let Joly slap the defibrillator pads in place. The scar, he knew he didn't have to point out; Joly had the eyes of an eagle when it came to anything medical. "Probably congenital."

Joly relayed the information to the dispatcher, then passed the phone to Feuilly and hit a button on the defibrillator. It chirped, announcing it was analyzing the heart rhythm; Joly and Combeferre looked at the same moment to make sure no one was in physical contact. Jehan had reluctantly let go of Grantaire's hand as soon as the machine instructed everyone to stay clear of the patient.

"Not shockable," Joly groused, nodding for Combeferre to move to take over mouth-to-mouth while he resumed compressions. "Fat lot that tells me. Asystole, a block, fucking PEA…." He continued to name multiple cardiac rhythms incombatible with life in lieu of actually counting the compressions aloud, but his technique was otherwise flawless. Probably because he and Combeferre had worked in tandem at the local emergency care centers so many times, they knew each other's ways intimately.

Feuilly frowned as he manned the phone. "Should I be telling them any of this?"

Combeferre shook his head. "No. He's just thinking aloud." He bent down to give another two breaths, carefully watching the chest rise and fall, wishing he could pretend it was just another patient, a man he would give his all for, but not one whose loss would rock his friends to their core.

Right on time, the defibrillator chirped, asking them to step back. This time, it advised a shock and Joly grinned triumphantly as he checked to make sure everyone was clear. "Ferre, I think we've knocked him back into v-fib." Only among medical students would this be rated as a major accomplishment. He pushed the button and Grantaire's body convulsed with the electricity. Jehan gasped and turned to hide his face in Courfeyrac's chest. Courfeyrac held him, though tears streamed down his own face.

Combeferre took a deep breath as he moved to recheck the pulse, praying for a break. And he got it, for one rare instance in this situation. There was a pulse, faint and unsteady, but definitely present. "Joly, you bloody genius. He's back."

Joly grinned as Grantaire coughed weakly after the last artificial breath and started breathing again on his own. Again, it was nothing reassuring, but it was life and life was beautiful. "I think there are other doctors to thank, but I'll take it."

Combeferre rocked back on his heels in relief, the adrenaline left him. He watched as Joly continued to tend to Grantaire, looking up at a hand on his shoulder. He reached up, curling his hand around their leader's wrist. Enjolras was never one to look terrified, but he did, even if many would have missed it. Combeferre knew. He tugged Enjolras down to sit beside him, closing his eyes gratefully at the sound of sirens outside. "We'll get him to the hospital. He wasn't down long. He can beat this." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Enjolras or himself, really. "Honestly, with his lifestyle, this history, it's a miracle he's lived this long." It didn't sound reassuring, but it was to him. It meant that Grantaire had something in him that added up to defying the odds. "We won't let him go without a fight."


	2. Revelations

The whole of Les Amis - except Grantaire, of course - were crowded into the Accident and Emergency department's waiting room, anxiously hoping for news. They weren't allowing anyone back yet, and none of Joly or Combeferre's contacts seemed to be on duty. Jehan desperately wanted - no, needed - to be at his brother's side, but not even family was allowed, not yet. He had crowded onto a small sofa between Courfeyrac and Enjolras, the beauty of all three of them being on the thin side. He wrung his hands, glancing at Enjolras, trying to will up the courage to say what was on his mind.

It would have been easy to take his frustration out on Enjolras, who had unwittingly spurned every advance Grantaire ever made. But he did it out of cluelessness, not spite. Even the times Enjolras' words cut deep...well, Jehan might have snapped at Enjolras over it, but he knew Enjolras was only trying to get Grantaire to realize his true potential. Something Jehan had been unsuccessful in doing for years. He finally sighed, knowing he had to do this, damn any potential consequences once Grantaire was conscious. If it meant he would _be_ conscious, it was worth it. "Enj? Can I ask something of you?"

Enjolras nodded. "Of course." He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Jehan took a deep breath and pressed forward. "When we see him...I don't care what you have to say, just...I don't know, it makes more sense in my head. Order him to fight if you have to. Anything."

Enjolras nodded again, though he looked highly skeptical. "I think you'd know better than anyone that Grantaire isn't one to follow orders."

"He will from you," Jehan insisted. "If you tell him...that you want him to live."

Enjolras looked shocked. "What…? Of course I want him to live! Why would he ever doubt that? I haven't been _that_ hard on him, have I?"

A discussion best left for another day, Jehan decided. "It's not that simple. I know you don't see eye-to-eye all of the time. But he...his sarcasm covers a world of old hurts. He's so in love with you he can't see straight sometimes, but he can't handle the thought of your rejection."

Enjolras blinked, his expression disbelieving. "I'm sorry, what?" Clearly, he was the only person in the group who hadn't noticed.

"Enjolras." Jehan wasn't holding back now, not when so much was at stake. "You are his Patria. He calls you Apollo because you are the god of his universe, the only god he's ever managed to believe in."

Enjolras drew back, blinking in confusion. "He...are you serious?"

Jehan leaned closer, closing his fingers around Enjolras' wrist. "I've never been so serious in all my life, Enjolras."

"I…" Under any other circumstances, it would have been amusing to see Enjolras lost for words. "My God. I never knew. And all this time, I've...I just thought he lived to frustrate me."

"Well, that he does enjoy," Jehan admitted. "It's his personality; he loves to tease. And you especially. Any kind of attention is better than none."

Enjolras dropped his head into his hands. "I honestly don't know what to do with this."

Even as a self-described hopeless romantic, Jehan knew how unrealistic it would be to expect an epic romance to start so suddenly. "You don't have to do anything right away. Just...consider it. Keep it in mind. You're not obligated to pursue anything with him romantically; just realize he does feel that way. And if you have to use that to encourage him to get through this, do it." Normally he'd be warning Enjolras away from leading Grantaire on at all, but Jehan honestly was okay with a bit of that if it got his brother to live. Grantaire's apathy toward life had been going on for too long, and now it had the power to actually kill him.

Enjolras frowned. "You're not suggesting I promise anything I might not be able to deliver, are you?"

"No, no, of course not." Jehan shook his head. "Don't promise him a life and a home if that's not something you want to pursue. But...a little encouragement, anything. Even just your support."

"He's always had that," Enjolras said softly, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.

"I know." Jehan could see from the swirl of emotions on his face that there was a lot going on in Enjolras' head. "But he thinks so little of himself; he doesn't see things the way we do. You have to spell things out a little more, and even then, sometimes he doesn't believe it right away. But...I can't lose him, Enjolras. He's my brother."

Enjolras nodded. "You're all my brothers."

Jehan smiled sadly. "Yes, I know, but that's not exactly what I meant. He _is_ my brother. We have the same father."

Courfeyrac, who'd been listening quietly, tightened his grip on Jehan's waist. "Really? Love, you never said anything."

"It didn't really matter," Jehan said, shrugging. "People make assumptions related to their own views of family. But, yes, he is blood to me, and as much as I would do anything for him, I can't always make him listen. He's stubborn. It's kept him alive this long, but it might be his downfall."

Enjolras nodded again, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice lacked its normal confidence. "I'll do whatever I can. I don't know that I can make him listen, but I owe it to him to try." It was clear his head was spinning, that Jehan's revelations would take him some time to process.

Jehan patted his arm. "That's all I ask. Thank you."

* * *

_Thank you so much for the reviews and encouragement! I'll definitely be getting more on this and all my works soon!_


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